Saturday, December 31, 2011

[voiceover]
-----------
Janet, Janet, we adore thee. We think you are super hot.
-----------
I don't go out on dates any more. My life could get no lamer.
I sit in the scan booth and play with myself. I'm a TSA'er!
-----------
I'm on the edge of hurling
Napolitano's face makes me spew
I'm on the edge of hurling
Starting to gag what about you?
------------
[voiceover]
------------
And here's to you, Ms. Napolitano

Turkey legs make her smile
Donuts light up her eyes
She'll slap up your face then hog the moon pies
The skin she reveals, you won't want to see
She whines like a child,
Her thighs jiggle like Jell-O at sea.

She can give you a shove
She can take all the wagyu
She'll say "your kid's fat!"
And then nanny-state you
She shnorks down the best US Prime Grade A beef
Like Commander in Thief
But she's always MichelleO to me

CHORUS:
Oh--she looks out for herself
She can eat what she wants
Always dinner time
Oh--and she never cuts back
And she never gives in
She just eats the pork rinds

She eats up more tacos
Than hundreds of heathen
You take her last biscuit
And you'll be the one bleedin'!!
She gobbles the best US Prime Grade A beef
Blame it all on Gee-Dubya
Cause she's always MichelleO to me
--Mhmm--

Bridge

CHORUS:
Ouch! She just bit off my thumb!
Can you get me a towel
And then call 9-1-1 ??
Ouch! She just did it again!
Can't believe how it bled!
Oooh! I can get SSI

She is infrequently kind
And she's usually cruel
She can do as she pleases
'Cuz barry's a fool
Got my kids hidden safely up in a tree
'Cuz it's scary as hell, that Michelle My Belle
When she snarls like a wookie at me

Friday, December 23, 2011

White House briefing. The usual Secretaries, Department heads, Czars, and not-convicted-yet felons in attendance. The pResident enters, skipping like a schoolchild, with an uncommonly wide grin.

[Biden] "Sir! You're looking extra chipper this morning! Must be looking forward to the vacay in Hawaii, eh?"

[Obama] "That's not it at all, Joe. Actually, what it is, is that the last couple nights are the best sleep I've had in years."

[Biden] "When I'm away from Jill, I toss and turn all night. I hate it."

[Obama] "OK, you didn't hear this from me, but... Michelle snores. Really snores. Like a congested walrus. Drives me nuts. I'd use earplugs, but as you know, nobody makes them in my size. With her already in Hawaii, I've finally been able to rest."

[John Holdren, Science Czar] "Sir, if I may interject. I once ran an audio sampling of your wife's snoring through a spectrum analyzer. Turns out, it is less of a 'congested walrus' sound, than it is a 'somebody trying to blast a congested walrus through an InSinkErator using a diesel-powered leaf blower' sound."

[Obama] "OK, 'nuff of that. Where we at and what we got? Axe?"

[Axelrod] "Your poll numbers continue to reek. However, people are slightly less pessimistic about the economy. That bodes well."

[Obama] "Nice."

[Axelrod] "However, that all depends on the Europeans making the difficult choices to get their debt problems under their control without blowing up the world economy. How likely do you think that is?"

[Obama, still unusually upbeat] "I'm screwed. Understood. State?

[SecState Hillary] "Sir, the Russians hate us, the Chinese hate us. Even the Syrians are saying they wish Booooosh were still president. Chavez says you are a clown. We are like a piñata that the whole world is taking swings at. Oh, and in Egypt the military is going around stomping on innocent women. Right there in the street."

[Obama] "Good thing I gave that historic speech there in Cairo a couple years ago. Otherwise those filthy whores who deserve to, uhh, excuse me. Otherwise, those innocent women would be getting hosed down with sustained full-auto weapons fire, instead of merely stomped on."

[Clinton, eyeroll] "Yeah. OK. Also, some columnists at the Politico wrote a very convincing essay on why I should run for President."

[Obama, no longer upbeat, lunges across the table and angrily grabs Hillary by the collar] "Listen to me very closely... If you run against me..." [now eyeball-to-eyeball with Hill] "I will shove a cactus up your actus... You'll rue the very day you were born... Do you smell... What Barack... Is Cookin'??" [releases grip] "And what's with the bright floral print in the middle of winter? Girl, you have the most miserable fashion sense."

Thursday, December 22, 2011

A drunken soccer hooligan (is there any other kind of hooligan? -ed.) charged the field and got an epic beatdown courtesy of the Dutch goalkeeper. Now *this* is my kind of soccer. I could actually enjoy full-contact soccer. Not the "yellow-card my opponent while I writhe in pain because our feet almost touched" non-contact soccer that prevails internationally these days. What a bunch of wussicles. But soccer cross-pollinated with Ultimate Fighting? I. AM. SO. THERE.

What I'm envisioning would be like this: At random intervals, the Designated Blower would toot his vuvuzela. Play would immediately stop, and a drunken hooligan would charge onto the field. A guy wearing #34 with little spiky things on his shoes, dressed like a Georgia Tech cheerleader, would square off with the drunken hooligan. No holds barred. Groin kicks not only allowed, but encouraged. (Hence the name "fútbol" ). Winner gets a £10 million contract with Manchester United. How awesome would that be? The "Beautiful Sport" would become the "Watchable Sport" and pay-per-view revenues would soar!

The only thing that keeps my idea from becoming a reality is the sheer dearth of drunken soccer hooligans. If only they weren't so mannered and orderly...

PS - I don't dislike soccer or soccer players. This isn't intended to be one of those jingoistic "American fooball is better than World football" flame wars. But making fun of soccer players is irresistibly fun. Like pinching occutards with BBQ tongs and listening to their whiny cries of "shtop it! You're hurting me!" I just never tire of it.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

OK. Seriously. I started this song a loooong time ago, back when the occudorks were still kind of relevant. But there were a number of problems. First, I couldn't get the timing on the arpeggios to my satisfaction. Secondly, I don't know how to play keyboard instruments worth pbthbth. So I used the bass and cranked it up two octaves in the software, which made it sound pretty cool. Interesting swells and stuff in there that can't really be heard at normal frequencies. But it still really stunk, terrible timing. Sounded like 4 bad musicians playing 4 different songs at the same time. (In other words, "jazz"). So I downloaded a MIDI app. Never used one before - this is the first effort. All the instruments you hear are ordinary MIDI voices that came either with Windows or my sound card. My cheap-o $9 mic's cord is failing, so I had to sit super still and there's still a lot of garbling. Oh well. (Plus, it would help if I could actually sing. But you knew that already.)

--------------------------------

While the original author is unknown, this song was popularized by The Animals and covered by lots of bands including The Doors. So I present to you my version. And remember, it isn't "bad" it's, um, "campy." Yeah, campy.

If that doesn't work, here's an Alternate Link to download and/or play in Windows Media Player (or similar).

There is a park in NYC
Occupied by whining scum
They raped each other and took dumps on the street
A perfect storm of dumb

Now the only thing a hippie needs
Is a dry tent and bong
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's banging' a gong

Bloomberg kicked some of 'em out
But quite a few remain
I tell you what they play those drums one more bleeping time
I'm gonna beat 'em with a chain.

Mothers don't let your children
Run up debt on stupid degrees
You know the kind I'm talkin' about
Their PhD's in Puppetry

They twinkled up and they twinkled down
They twinkled all around
They twinkled in cups, vases and pots
And even on the ground

Well, there is a park in NYC
Occupied by whining scum
They raped each other and took craps on the street
A perfect storm of dumb

I am still interested in collaborating on some of these silly things. I'm so not a musician, but I think it'd be fun and we could probably get a better result together than me doing everything. The software is all free and not that hard to figure out. We could get some shared space on Drop Box or one of the cloud-based services to exchange files. Lemme know.

[Mahmoud] "Oh no! It is not plane. It is UFO! Now comes time when small gray man with the big eyes depart the UFO and probe my 'down there' place with strange instrument!"

[Jamaal] "Mahmoud, be reasonable. The Prophet wrote of no such thing. I think you see too much the SyFy channel and get the bad idea from."

[Mahmoud] "No! I hate the intentional misspelling of words and brands and slogans. It is not catchy or effective." [getting irrationally angry] "No! Not catchy! It is vexing only. So I no to watch the SyFy. Just the name 'SyFy' make me wants to kill the Joooos."

[Jamaal] "So? A pleasant breeze at the sunrise make you wants to kill the Joooos."

[Mahmoud] "Yes. What is your point?"

[Jamaal] "I do not remember the point. Oh yes. There is no strange man do those things on you."

[Mahmoud] "But there is! It happened also just the last night!"

[Jamaal] "No, my friend. That was just me."

[Mahmoud, relieved] "What then of this plane? Let us go nearer."

The two herdsmen sidle near enough to almost touch the unusual craft. Eerie clicks and hissing noises emanate from it as its engine cools in the chill evening air.

[Mahmoud, cringing] "My soul is troubled by this machine. I cannot touch it or come closer. It is like being near to the Michael Moore wearing Speedo... Much evil."

[Jamaal] "But where is the cockpit? Where is the pilot?" [throws rock at screen where pilot's seat is found on traditional manned aircraft]

[Mahmoud] "Jamaal! Stop! I tell you it is evil! It is flown by a djinn! If there is no pilot, what can be other explanation?"

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Alright, ordinarily I hate these things. But my ordinary (and by ordinary I mean "black as the coal miner's [ ] at midnight and thick like 90W gear lube and stronger than the stench of an #occupy encampment") coffee just ain't turnin' the crank today. I am so flippin' tired that, well, um, yeah. I'm at the point of actually downing one of these. I think it was Blaise Pascal who said "anybody who sleeps more than four hours a day is wasting his life." I think it was also Blaise Pascal who did math stuff and said a lot of things that seriously piss me off. I've done (at most) 4 hours a night consecutively starting Friday, and really, Blaise, I don't think it's helping with any part of my life. Wait... My hallucinations are becoming more vivid, so there's that...

Anyway.

Going to an OSU Beaver basketball game tonight. Haven't been there live-an-in-person since Saint Gary of the Payton was running the offense. Should be fun. But I want to be awake. When is the optimal time to chug this nasty swill? Tip-off is at 7:00pm local time. I want to time it so I'm nice and lively at the game and then, about 4 seconds after I get home, crash. Crash! Crash like a liberal taking a head-on with Reality at freeway speeds. I want to wake up in my own clothes and wonder what day it is kind of crash. But timing is crucial. Don't wanna run out of energy while I'm still driving home after the game. When should I crack the seal on this little bottle of evil?

Friday, December 9, 2011

Here's the deal - I haven't been able to think of anything funny for a long time. I check the sitemeter and see dwindling numbers, but also clicks from faithful readers who are no doubt thinking something like "Maybe, just maybe, innominatus has posted something that isn't totally McTarded and is actually kinda funny, which might briefly - oh, so briefly - lift my spirit out of the doldrums of misery." But I haven't. For a long time. It makes me feel like a total failure. So I'm taking requests. This is what desperation smells like.

So... If you've ever wished I'd be struck in the head by a speeding meteorite write about some certain topic, lemme know. If you have a story idea, lemme know. If you have a tip to something funny that I might use as a mental springboard, lemme know. If you know (in an eco-friendly way, of course) how to dispose of a shipping container full of dead hippies, lemme know.

Thanks.

**UPDATE**

Hey! When in doubt, write about PAIN!

This is a picture of the engraving table I use daily. Not my actual one, but a pic of the same model, which I jacked from some Portuguese website. Neither is that actually me. The real me has a larger, but less pointy nose. But you get the idea. Anyway, I was trying valiantly to deposit a scrap of paper in the wastebasket under the table, which was basically right between my feet. Somehow I managed to miss the wastebasket. When I bent down to retrieve the errant paper, I banged by ample forehead on the Y-Axis stepper motor. The Y-Axis stepper motor is about the same size as a Pepsi can but not as well cushioned. You'd think that daily use of this machine since May of 2000 would lead me to have a good working knowledge of where the Y-Axis stepper motor is at any given time, and that I'd use that knowledge to avoid banging my head on said motor. But you'd be wrong. So now I have a neat little knot in the middle of my forehead that looks like a swollen Hindu caste mark. I think I am now an Untouchable. Shun me accordingly.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

I know that in this song Rush is scolding us for "going overboard" on Imperial Japan. I don't care if Rush thinks nukes were excessive. Imperial Japan was very unlike modern Japan, and if you ask me, they deserved every bomb that fell on them. Pilot of Enola Gay, riding out of the shockwave...

Don't screw with us. For if we have to, we'll invent new ways to mess you up.